She struts back to her seat, and the silence that follows feels heavier than before. At the head table, even the professors look uncomfortable.
“And now,” Constance says, her tone suggesting this display wasn’t what she had in mind, “breakfast will be served.”
The servers emerge from hidden doors, the smell of eggs and toast turning my stomach as plates materialize in front of us.
I turn to Evie, my fingers drumming against my thigh, electricity humming beneath my skin. “Is Logan going to be okay?”
“When an emberlinked partner dies, the survivor experiences magical backlash.” She pushes runny scrambled eggs around her plate, and whether she looks sickened by the clumpy bits of the food or Miles’s death, I can’t tell. “It’s excruciating. Like having half your magic ripped out through your veins.”
My lungs tighten, as does my grip on my fork. “But he’ll recover?”
“His magic will become unstable for weeks.” She lowers her voice, leaning closer. “Some witches never fully recover their power level from before the linking.”
I force myself to take a bite of toast, although it tastes like cardboard. Or maybe I can’t taste it because of how much my mind is spinning.
Because where’s Logan right now? What’s he going through? Is there anything I can do to help him? Would he even want my help? Or would I just annoy him, like a fly he wants to swat away?
“The whole thing is strange though.” Evie glances around, a secretive look in her eyes when she refocuses on me. “I was at the library late last night working on my Pyropsychology paper, and I noticed…” She pauses, biting her lip.
“You noticed what?” I lean in, the cardboard toast forgotten.
“There was only one heat trail leading down to the Ember Archives.” Her voice drops to barely a whisper. “Which means Miles was alone down there for a while before whoever killed him arrived.”
“So, the killer didn’t go with him,” I realize. “They followed him after you left.”
Evie’s hands tremble as she reaches for her water glass. “They must have been watching. Waiting. Then went down much later, when the library was empty.”
Vera’s voice suddenly cuts through our conversation. “Speculation and rumors won’t be tolerated,” she says from where she’s sitting three seats down, her sharp gaze fixed on us. “Didn’t you hear the Headmistress? Or are the two of you exempt from basic respect?”
Heat floods my cheeks, and Evie touches my arm in warning. She’s right—I need to control myself. Not because I might say something I’ll regret, which is what she’s likely thinking, but because I can’t risk releasing any electricity.
So, I contain my urge to snap back at Vera, turning back to my roommate instead.
“How long can you sense heat signatures for?” I ask her, keeping my voice casual. “Like, how long after someone’s been somewhere?”
“Not long. Maybe an hour at most. And that’s only when the signature is laced with strong emotions. Fear, anger, desperation… those burn hotter and last longer.”
An hour. If Miles was terrified enough, his heat signature would have lingered for at least an hour. Which means Evie saw it not long before…
I push the thought away, my mind racing as I focus on spreading jam on my toast. Because who would want Miles dead? He seemed paranoid at the Forge Night, watching me with that calculating stare and coming down to find me and Logan. Then there was that notebook he was always writing in, and the paper he was researching about Hecate.
My electricity responds to my anxiety, and I clench my fists to keep it from sparking. Because Blaze Academy isn’t just about passing classes anymore. It seems like someone murdered a student for putting his nose in places it didn’t belong. And if that’s true, what would they do to someone whoactuallydoesn’t belong?
Someone like me, with my electricity magic, or like Logan, with his ability to compel other witches?
I don’t know. What I do know, however, is that my goal just expanded from “survive and hide” to “survive, hide, and hope that whoever killed Miles doesn’t come for me next.”
JADE
Six days since Miles died,and I haven’t caught a glimpse of Logan. Not in the halls, not at meals, not even a shadow passing by a window.
First-year food never improves, but tonight it might as well be cardboard. Because my mind keeps circling back to Logan, alone somewhere in Typhon Hall, dealing with magical backlash that Evie described as excruciating.
Is he eating? Sleeping? Does the backlash hurt constantly, or does it come in waves?
I hate that I don’t know. I hate even more that I can’t march up to his room and check on him without looking like the desperate first-year everyone already thinks I am.
“Jade Harrington!” Margot Ridgeway materializes beside my table after dinner, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing with each movement. “I’d love to have a little chat with you, if you have a few spare minutes?”
